


They Come Crumbling Down

by lotrfan



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Teitho Fanfiction Contest, walls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 17:23:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10644546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrfan/pseuds/lotrfan
Summary: Legolas and Gimli in Minas Tirith after Pelennor Fields. Written for Teitho Contest March 2017 prompt "Walls" where it placed 1st.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to Cheekybeak for the idea of the song of the stone

All characters and settings are Tolkien’s.

First two paragraphs directly from The Lord of the Rings, The Last Debate.

__________________________________________________________ 

_“There is some good stone-work here,” he said as he looked at the walls; “But also some that is less good, and the streets could be better contrived. When Aragorn comes into his own, I shall offer him the service of the stonewrights of the Mountain and we will make this a town to be proud of.”_

_“They need more gardens,” said Legolas. “The houses are dead and there is too little here that grows and is glad. If Aragorn comes into his own, the people of the Wood shall bring him birds that sing and trees that do not die.”_

“What do you mean ‘if’ Aragorn comes into his own, lad?” Gimli frowned at Legolas. “The battle is won. The city is his.”

“The Shadow still lies to the East, Gimli. We have not defeated it yet,” Legolas replied, turning his eyes towards the dark outline of Mordor. “It is my fervent hope that we will live to see him come into his own as he deserves, but much depends on Frodo and Sam and my heart is heavy at the thought of them.”

Gimli’s face darkened. It was not like Legolas to be so gloomy. He could always be counted on to turn the talk to cheerful topics or to break out in song at the most inopportune times. Well, to be honest he had been singing not long ago but even that had not been his usual uplifting warbling.

“Do you lose hope?” Gimli asked quietly, his eyes searching his friend’s face. He had noticed the Elf was more prone to moments of sudden melancholy recently. Since Gandalf had given them Galadriel’s message, he thought grimly. It had been but a few days since they had come to the sea and Legolas had first heard the cry of the gulls. His frown deepened as Legolas did not answer him right away. “Do you?” he repeated.

Green eyes looked down at him and a familiar grip came to rest on his shoulder. “No, Gimli, I do not lose hope, not yet. Not until the last blow is struck and the Black Gate itself looms before us. But even then, if I have you and Aragorn beside me, I will still cling to the shreds of whatever hope I can. For what is left to us if we give that up too? No, my people fight. We resist. We keep hope alive in the darkest shadow and I will honor that.”

“Come then, Legolas, stop looking East and let me show you something of this stonework,” Gimli said.

The Elf smiled fondly as the dwarf moved towards the massive outer stone walls of Minas Tirith. “You hear its song, my friend?”

“This stone has been too many years out of the ground for me to hear its voice—I hear the echo, similar to what I hear of the forest when you get in my head with your flighty, whimsical wanderings,” Gimli grumbled.

It had not been long that Gimli had been Elvellon—barely two weeks since their time in Orthanc—but he already had sensed the green dreams of Legolas in the night.

“Put your hand here, Legolas.” Gimli placed his hand on the smooth surface of the wall in front of them. Legolas followed suit, laying his hand next to Gimli’s on the cool stone. “Now concentrate, lad—no letting your mind wander to the wind or the clouds above or some such nonsense,” Gimli ordered.

“Aye, Gimli—I can pay attention you know,” Legolas said, his eyes flashing at the Dwarf.

“You are distracted already—concentrate!” Gimli grumbled.

Legolas closed his eyes and let his mind open. He could feel Gimli, fretting and fussing beside him. He could hear the birds and the rush of the wind as it swept by them.

“Anything?” Gimli asked.

“Your grumpiness mainly, and the wind and birds. I hear no echo from the stone,” Legolas said, his eyes still closed, his brow creased as he concentrated.

“Flighty thing,” Gimli muttered, laying his other hand on top of Legolas’ and closing his eyes in turn. He felt the green aura he always sensed with Legolas, the low buzz of his friend’s impatience with this exercise. He grunted and pushed his hand down on Legolas’ hand, reaching for that echo he could hear emanating from the stone.

Gimli’s hand was warm and Legolas could feel his presence, grumbling and gruff, a warm orange glow at the periphery of his consciousness. He focused on that, letting his barriers fall, opening his mind to the world around him as he rarely dared in places so crammed with people and noise.

It was initially overwhelming but he stayed focused on Gimli’s steady presence and with time he felt a barely perceptible thrum, slower and deeper than a heartbeat, so faint he almost thought he must have imagined it. It was unfamiliar, steady and deep, but so very distant.

“Is it like a slow pulse, Gimli?” he whispered.

“Aye lad,” Gimli replied, his voice just as hushed. “Deep and slow.”

Legolas kept his hand on the stone a moment longer then opened his eyes to smile down at Gimli as he straightened up. “It was weak but I heard it. Can you sense if the walls are sound, Gimli, when it is faint like that?”

“Legolas, how do you know which trees are sickened in your wood?” Gimli asked. “Is it how they look?”

It was an odd question and Legolas frowned. “No, the trees appearance is a late sign of the darkness in them.” He studied Gimli’s face. “The first sign is found by touch—I can put my hand on the bark and hear the discord in their song long before any outer changes.” He looked thoughtful. “Is it so with stone as well?”

“In the mines or in the caves the stone lives—a crack or instability sounds like what you describe—a discordant note or irregularity in the beat of the song.” Gimli stroked the wall in front of him. “Stone that has been quarried has lost that song—only the echo of it remains. Discord in the echo or complete silence of the stone is cause for concern.”

“The silence wouldn’t help me then—as hard as it is for me to hear even that echo in the first place,” Legolas said. “I could not have done so if you had not been here.”

“You will feel it more keenly when you visit the caves with me. That is living rock!” Gimli’s face broke into a broad smile as he thought of the caves of Aglarond.

“You promised to visit Fangorn with me first,” Legolas reminded him.

Gimli grimaced. “Blast it, must you remind me of that rash promise of mine? As long as you don’t make me listen to the trees there. Crotchety, wild things they are.”

Legolas laughed. “That they are, but even they have a song—one so old it makes me feel as if I am a careless elfling again.”

“And who is to say you are not still a careless elfling?” Gimli growled. “You are as troublesome as one!” But his smile was at odds with his words. Legolas knew his friend was teasing.

Could it only be a few weeks? It felt like they had been friends for longer, now that the barriers that separated them were gone—the prejudice of long years swept away by new found trust and mutual, if initially grudging, respect.

The first crack in Gimli’s wall had come in Moria, at Balin’s tomb. His gruff façade had crumbled and Legolas, more than any other in the Fellowship, had keenly felt his grief; a sharp sensation that surprised him with its intensity.

Gimli had first tentatively breached the barriers that Legolas had closely guarded for so long in Lothlorien—when shared grief had for once brought them together, mourning Gandalf.

Each day that passed had brought them just a little closer, the distrust slipping away—first on one side, then the other. Their time alone together in the boat had allowed them to share stories, hopes and fears they had not revealed to their companions. The barriers shifted, then imperceptibly came down.

By the time they had reunited with Gandalf the chasm between them had been bridged. It was not until Helm’s Deep--where they fought side by side--at times anticipating each other movements as if they had fought in tandem for decades, that they found the harmony that came from being together.

It was at Orthanc that Legolas had named Gimli Elvellon, an unexpected and life-altering event for them both. Gimli could feel Legolas since that day, just a sensation of him hovering on the edge of his awareness but present all the time.

It was not supposed to be so noticeable. Legolas had said so at the time—that it would simply be an occasional awareness, mostly noted when one or both of them were injured and a signal to other Elves that the status had been bestowed.

The extent of their bond had surprised Legolas. He wasn’t supposed to be so aware of Gimli or have his own moods broadcast so clearly to the Dwarf. Legolas had been aware of Aragorn’s Elvellon status for years. He could sense Aragorn, especially when he was injured and Aragorn could do the same, much to Legolas’ annoyance. But it was not like his connection to Gimli. Legolas wondered if it was because he himself had bestowed the Elvellon status to Gimli. Could that be the difference?

Or was it something else? Something he didn’t really want to think about too much—could there be more similarities between Elves and Dwarves than he had realized?

It was as if the barriers all were breached and a bridge formed by their remnants. It was odd, no doubt, Legolas thought, having a Dwarf in his mind. He was mindful Gimli felt the same, sometimes even more perplexed at his sudden sensitivity to sunsets, streams and green things growing.

It eased him to know Gimli was there and that warm orange glow was both a comfort and a distraction when the darkness pressed too close or the sea song grew too insistent.

It was a peculiar sensation, knowing someone for only a few months yet feeling as connected as if they had been friends for centuries.

To Gimli it was as if a tiny plant had laid its roots deep into a crack in stone—not always noticeable but each day anchoring itself further. The green glow was a constant, flaring bright or damping down depending on Legolas’ mood. The ability to finish each other’s sentences, at times knowing the other’s thoughts with just a look, feeling his friend’s calming presence when needed—that was an unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome development.

He did not know how he had lived so long without it, Gimli thought, as he gazed at the brilliant colors of the sunset and smelled the sea on the breeze that whispered by them. He knew the green would darken now, as the sea air reached his friend. It was time to reach out and try to drive the sea away.

 

 


End file.
